The Gifts of Sir Thomas
by Heather Giesbrecht
Summary: Over the years, everyone who truly meant something to him had gotten a gift. Thomas/Lucille, Thomas/Alan. Both chapters posted, complete.
1. 1886

**1886**

 _Friday, November 27th_

Thomas grinned as home came into sight, not because he particularly wanted to return, but because Lucille was there. The only consistent thing about the mansion was its deteriorating three storeys of blue-grey brick and stone. Otherwise it was a mishmash of styles from mid-17th Century Baroque to 18th Century Palladian up until the early 19th Century Gothic Revival when the constant renovations had finally stopped due to lack of money.

Finlay glanced back at him with milky blue-eyes, "Young master Thomas, do you still have Mistress Lucille's gift with you ? Oh my." The silvery hair ruffled as the snowflake laced wind gusted plucking the hat from the old man's head.

With a laugh he reached up to catch the bowler hat and laid it beside him on the cart's back bench. It was rather fortunate that his Christmas gift for Lucille had finally arrived. He had started fearing that it would only arrive when they were long since snowed in. Impulsively, he reached into the right side pocket of his waist coat for the little dark walnut box. In his left pocket was the cloak broach for Finlay's wife, Amelia, that he would gift when the man left them for the winter. "Yes, I still have it as I also have your hat. I'll save returning your hat until we stop, no, old thing ?"

Styx the cart horse whinnied as they passed beneath Allerdale Hall's gates alerting Finlay that they would have to stop soon. Finlay turned his attention back to the dark red path. "I am much obliged, young master Thomas, much obliged indeed."

A few minutes later, Finlay had pulled up before the grey stone steps. He stepped out of the cart and returned Finlay's hat before he clasped the man's shoulder murmuring, "Finlay, take my trunk up to my room will you ?"

Finlay nodded and smiled slightly, "Of course, Sir Thomas. Let me say again how glad I am to have you home."

"I'm glad to see you again, dear Finlay." He ascended the three steps to open the dark double doors, the great hall with its walls of cobalt plaster and dark oak grand staircase was still as he remembered it. The library's marble fireplace was burning brightly, Lucille would be sat on the far left side of the room at her grand piano, she was playing a Chopin of some kind. While he might've been wrong he thought that he recognized it as Nocturne No. 2 in E-Flat Major, Op. 9 as his sort-of mate, Anthony Halsey, back at boarding school had liked playing it.

Quietly, he entered the library trying to sneak up behind Lucille. Her onyx hair was loose about her shoulders, straight as a pin and near blending with it was the sapphire of her dress and greatly contrasting was the ivory of her skin as her fingers flowed over the similar keys. The music slowly faded away and she turned, he helped her to her feet.

Lucille smiled faintly, asking, "Did you truly think I would not notice you, Thomas ?"

"I had hoped that I might be a slight surprise at least."

She hugged him tightly, briefly laying her head on his shoulder, "Your home, your home at last. Hmm, what do you have in your pocket Thomas ?" Her hand moved to his chest, sliding toward the pocket of his waistcoat.

He slid his hand over hers, moving up to grasp her wrist. Gently, sternly, Thomas admonished, "Ah-ah, Christmas, Christmas, then I promise you can have it."

It was unbecoming, but also undoubtedly adorable when she pouted at him in return. Of course, it wasn't a surprise at all as she leaned up pressing kisses against his lips. "I can hardly believe that my little brother turned out so handsome."

"It is only three weeks dear sister buttering me up is not going to work."

Lucille's free hand caressed his inner thigh as she turned him around, "Oh ? Are we sure ?"

Discordant notes from the piano when he tried to steady himself against the bench. His heartbeat suddenly coursing uncomfortably in his veins, "Ah, yes, hn, w-we are. Umph, mm, Lucille."

* * *

 _Friday, December 4th_

The snow was already up to their calves as Thomas put a hand on Finlay's arm. "One more moment, I have something to give you."

Finlay shook his head, "No, no, Sir Thomas. I cannot, Sir Michael, my contract."

He pulled out Amelia's gift, his lips briefly thinning. Once again Papa was trying to ruin something for him, even dead the man refused to stop. So his tone came out more forceful than he meant for it to. "You work for me now, Finlay, me, not my father !" His tone softened and he pressed the small, square box into the wrinkled hands. "You said that Amelia needed a new broach for her cloak, so I bought her one in repayment for your many years of impeccable service. For understanding me, for finding the value in me that he refused, take it, Finlay, please."

A moment's hesitation before the old man smiled, accepting the box. "Thank you, young master Thomas. Say, whatever does it look like ?"

"It is a geranium made of ruby and pink quartz, the pin is hidden beneath the emerald leaf."

"It sounds wondrous, I am sure she will appreciate it very much. Have a merry Christmas, Sir Thomas, and God bless."

With a faint smile of his own, he watched Finlay climb onto the driver's seat. "Yourself and Amelia as well and Godspeed, dear Finlay, until spring."

Finlay doffed his hat, "I certainly look forward to returning to service, sir, if God be willing."

Sunlight gleaming off the snow made him squint as Finlay turned Styx and set off down the road. Only when the elder man had disappeared from sight did he close Allerdale Hall's gates.

* * *

 _Saturday, December 25th_

Lucille's gift lay on the chair's arm as she returned to their bedroom with a box of her own. He had turned the chairs slightly toward each other and now she stopped before him, her tailored nightgown fluttering.

She put down his gift, murmuring, "Are you finally going to give me my gift, little brother ?" The house breathed and the fire flared causing the shadows to accentuate Lucille's soft curves. How exactly he had managed to resist until now he didn't know, but he did know that he had surprised himself with the doing.

Amusedly he picked up the box standing as he answered, "Of course, dear sister. I know that you didn't like Mama's earrings for the bustle dress, so I had a jeweler in London re-cut them then bind them with silver instead of gold." He presented the box and opened it; sat on the white satin pillow were the now tear-shaped sapphire drop earrings.

Soft almost childish giggles of delight as Lucille threw her arms around him. "Thank you, Thomas, thank you. Oh this really is lovely, ha ha, Mama would have hated it !"

He pressed a kiss against each of her earlobes after he'd reinserted the earrings. As he pulled away to lay the box down he thought she looked gorgeous, chiaroscuro as a few strands of hair framed her face. The sapphires glinted too then and they matched her eyes near perfectly.

Lucille picked up his box again, it was of only slightly bigger proportions and polished oak. She opened it to reveal a silver hunter-cased pocket watch laid on a black pillow.

Unsurprisingly he heard himself exclaim, "That's not Papa's !"

A faint smile, "I know, I saved up the money and sent off for it while you were away. Now, I want to see it on you."

Hardly two minutes went by before she had pulled the waistcoat on for him, threaded the pocket watch's chain through and everything. That was when she smoothed the emerald fabric primly before saying, "We can try using Grandpapa's camera that you modified, if it works we can document the occasion."

Then he found himself being towed out of the bedroom and down a few halls to the spare room where he'd put the near ancient camera. He hadn't really modified it that much. Just lengthened the cords and wires, fiddled with the lens a bit, and improved the powder solution. All so that the camera would, hopefully, work better in the hall's woefully under-lit rooms. What with the modifications it actually surprised him that the camera did not catch fire as he had half-feared it would. They ended up getting quite a nice photograph out of it really, himself and Lucille arm-in-arm, smiling. It was the only Christmas in their life in which he actually remembered having fun.


	2. 1900

**1900**

 _Thursday, November 8th_

Alan suppressed a yawn as he stretched, considering that he for once did not hit the ivory skinned rock that was Thomas the Englishman hadn't come to bed. It was a common problem for his love if Thomas wasn't tired he would stay up all night trying to tweak one minuscule mechanism in a blueprint. He opened his eyes and turned his head, a faint smile crossing his lips as he saw Thomas sat at the desk likely doing just that.

Quietly, he rolled out of bed, walking over to tug one of the once again curly onyx strands. One could not begin to fathom how much he preferred Thomas's natural hair compared to its being sleeked straight or only the faintest of waves with oils that got everywhere. Rest assured that styling oils were not his preferred type for any matter.

The next yawn Alan could not repress as he leaned down to wrap his arms around the bare shoulders. Pressed cheek-to-cheek, he murmured, "You didn't come to bed. You still couldn't sleep ?"

"Ah, but I did sleep somewhat. It was just that I crawled into bed at 12 o'clock when you were too deeply asleep to notice, slept until 4 and then decided to rework my plans for the clay excavator."

Beside them the fire crackled merrily casting flickering shadows over the plans. Again ? Surely it must've been the sixth time that Thomas had mentioned doing so. "I know you will find the right one eventually, merely give it time."

He felt Thomas smile, "At least unlike Lucille you have faith in my abilities."

Unsurprisingly the mention of Lucille made him frown. "Lucille knows hardly one wit's worth about the building of anything. The most your sister can build is a single tiered cake."

Laughter before the thirty-two year old glanced about as if expecting her to materialize from nothing. "That maybe true but it's rather lovely tasting."

While Thomas looked to the side, his gaze went up to the small box that lay on the desk's top corner. It was obviously a present wrapped as it was in faded sky blue and pearlescent paper, "Who's that for, Thomas ?"

His hand drifted over the slim hard-muscled shoulder as Thomas pulled back to look at him.

A thin fingered hand waved briefly, "It is early to give out Christmas presents I know, however since I'll be leaving for the winter...,"

Umph, he'd willing forgotten that today was their last day together. "I wish that you could stay for once."

Pretty, sapphire eyes dulled for a moment before Thomas justified, "Lucille needs me."

His lips thinned, "She always claims she has need of you. Can you not see that Lucille...that she is utterly obsessed with you ? I meant not to spy, and I do apologize, but once I saw her holding your head to her breast as if you were a child. Try to tell me in all truthiness that she does not have a worrying maternal urge concerning yourself."

"She has her oddities yes, but what am I to do ? She is the only one who ever cared for me, with how the world is I can not leave her alone and she would go mad in the house without me."

A sigh left him and he burrowed against Thomas's neck, "Do I not count then ?"

Soft hands gently lifted his head back, those eyes sharp as their owner's surname. "Of course you count, Alan. How could you not ?" Thomas released him to pick up the present, "I may not be able to say that I love you in public, I may have to pretend not to know you so well as I do, but know that I love you no matter what. Merry Christmas, Alan McMichael."

He accepted the gift and unwrapped it carefully...

* * *

 _Tuesday, December 25th, 1956_

Alan ran a wrinkled finger over the dark walnut music box to trace the golden enameled finch, it shone cheery as ever in the firelight. It'd been 56 years since Thomas had first given him the music box and 55 years since the man's senseless murder. 54 or was it 53 years since Edith had borne young Carter Thomas Sharpe into the world. Ah, but how it had hurt at first to see the same features excepting Edith's cornflower blue eyes, of course. It did again as Carter turned from the McMichael mansion's living room fireplace.

"Uncle Alan, you never did say were you got that music box from."

Snow swirled outside the parlour's window as he answered, "Hum, it was from a...a very good friend of mine."

"But you say that it wasn't from Mother ?"

"No, it was not from her. He was as good a man as one could have wished to meet." White plaster and shadow played together as he laid his head back against the checkered arm chair. It was these nostalgic times that made him wish he had Edith's ability to see ghosts or even better the ability to go back and save Thomas's life.

Slowly, he set the music box down on the side table then opened it and that familiar lilting melody filled the air. Every year he had played it for a short while on Christmas morning. Coincidentally, he was now having insomnia too not even a packet of Thomas's spicy-sweet firethorn tea could help him fall asleep. The first time he had tried firethorn it'd been the middle half of 1898 in a little cafe with county wide delicacies and he'd thought it too watery for his tastes. Of course then he had met Thomas and tried his version and it'd been much better. After Thomas's funeral he'd gone to the general store and bought some as it hadn't felt right to reenter the house without Thomas's being there.

Whether it were a minute or an hour later, he finally fell asleep only to find himself awakened by, "Alan, Alan ? Come on, dear, wake up."

His eyelids fluttered open to see Thomas stood before him, "What are you doing here ?" It was odd to think that now he was older than his love because if had Thomas lived he would've been only a few years shy of 90. Yet Thomas hadn't and here he was still utterly bewitching, still bright-eyed, glossy-haired and smooth-skinned. A moment passed as he wondered what these years would've been like living with Edith, Carter and Thomas. Perhaps between the four of them they would've had enough money that he wouldn't've been forced to close his practice because the majority of his clients hadn't the money to afford an ophthalmologist. He then realized that he'd gotten off-side as he had grown into the tendency of doing.

A pale hand reached out as Thomas murmured, "That isn't important at the moment. What is is this, I've had the at times dubious pleasure of meeting your parents and now I wish you to meet my grandparents. Funny how the majority of good people in my family die rather young isn't it ?"

Briefly, he chuckled and accepted the roughened hand, "There is that saying about one's being too pure you know."

Thomas pulled him to his feet, one brow raising at his words. "I would not call engaging in a codependent and incestuous relationship with my sister from a young age to constitute purity, Alan."

"Ah, but they never specified what type of purity did they ?"

The Englishman's mouth twitched, "You are a wily thing aren't you ?"

He followed Thomas toward the living room's doorway, "I learned a thing or two of dry humour from a gentleman a few years ago."

"A gentleman, you say ? Well, what did he look like perhaps I know him ?"

Laughingly, he answered, "Black haired, pale skinned, he had the softest hands and was rather handsome too. Were it not for propriety I could have caused quite the scandal if I'd kissed him like I wanted to."

"Some cad tried stealing you from me ? I think I would be quite within my rights to demand a duel. What happened to him ?"

"Oh, you need not worry, he's been dead for quite a few years now."

"Hmm, so I shall have you all to myself then ?"

"Indeed you shall, but now I have to meet your grandparents, no ?"

Thomas sighed, "I suppose I must take you to them to keep my promise. After though you will be mine again, won't you ?"

"Of course, it would be my pleasure and perhaps yours too."

White light engulfed them as they crossed the living room's threshold.


End file.
